


I know exactly what you wanna say but don't

by guti



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Implied Relationships, Incomplete, M/M, Melodrama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8437852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guti/pseuds/guti
Summary: "Shut up, I’m not done talking yet," Fábio says assertively, putting his finger to Cristiano’s pouting lips. Marcelo leans in, for a better view. He briefly considers getting out his phone to take a photo of this touchstone moment. "If you don’t want to repeat this again, you need to be authentic. You’re a good person. And people care about you. But when you act like a complete asshole, no one wants to be around you. So knock it off, Cristiano."Cristiano sputters into Fábio’s hand. The nerve of him! Who does Fábio Coentrão think he is, calling him out for something he already realizes and desperately wants to ignore? "I’m not an asshole.""You’re always an asshole," Fábio retorts. From behind him, Marcelo nods and whispers, “It’s true, Cris. You are an asshole much of the time."





	

**Author's Note:**

> so i started writing this two years ago as a joke via text message with a friend, and then life got in the way and i abandoned it and i have no idea how to complete it or how to edit it to make it a full stand alone melodrama. basically the gist of it was/is:
> 
> cristiano & james become ~a thing~ at the start of the 14/15 season and it's unhealthy & not a great relationship. james finally has enough and decides to call it off, and this is the aftermath.
> 
> temporary title comes from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_Arg5m4zWM)

James stands there, fists clenched with rage. He just can't take it anymore. Another moment of the whining and the bitching and he'll explode. But once he starts, he can't fight the outpour of frustration. Months he's spent trying to navigate this sea. It's only now that he's found the courage to say what it is that's really on his mind. 

"You don’t love me, Cristiano. You love the idea of me, and even then you only see me as an extension of yourself. You don’t know the real me, and you don’t even really care. You take and you take, but what have you given me besides a broken heart and a bruised ego? And you’ve treated everyone else even worse. Look at yourself. Look at what you’re doing to your friends. And look at what you’ve become. You’re a shell of a man, Cristiano Ronaldo. You suck out the joy in everyone because you try to fit them into perfect little boxes. Well, you need to learn that no one is perfect, not even you. I can’t love someone who can’t accept their own weaknesses. Maybe you should try loving yourself first.”

James grabs his gym bag and storms out, pushing past Marcelo and Fábio in the hallway, who have come to see what’s taking so long. They wonder what’s wrong with James, but shrug it off, sharing a quick look of confusion.

Cristiano is left in the locker room, stunned by what has just happened. And for the first time in months, he allows himself to cry. He just breaks down and sobs like a baby. He's broken. He's deflated. But the worst part is, he's heard it all before. They all say it to him when they leave. And they always leave. He’s given his all in everything in his life. Nothing less than one hundred percent ever satisfied his quest for utter perfection in everything he is. This applies not only to himself, but to the people in his life. He wasn’t afraid of looking directly at the sun and daring it to outshine him. Only someone who could shine as brightly as he could was worthy of calling themselves his equal. And yet… and yet. He’s tried for so long to find that person, and every time he’s come up empty-handed. The ones he chooses to love let him down, because, he suspects, they’re too afraid of his greatness to keep up. Such is his cross to bear. He contemplates this pitiful, sorrowful fact as his body quakes with heavy tears.

It’s at that moment that Marcelo and Fábio push through the locker room doors, only to stop dead in their tracks when they see Cristiano in a broken puddle on the tiled floor. 

"What’s the matter?" demands Marcelo, rushing to Cristiano’s side. Fábio stays back, watching the scene unfold at a safe distance. He glances back to the door, where James has just run off and frowns. Marcelo folds his arms around Cristiano, shushing him and easing him into an upright position. Generally Marcelo is all fun and games, but in times like these, he takes charge of the situation, petting Cristiano’s shoulders. "Are you alright? Is... Has someone died or something?”

"It’s nothing," Cristiano says, wiping the tears from his eyes in frantic motions. "I just need a minute.”

Marcelo’s brows furrow and he looks back to Fábio, whose expression has shifted from confusion to anger. He looks as though he might turn heel and chase down James, probably to strangle him, like he only needs permission to do so. 

Cristiano doesn’t notice their exchange. Instead he exhales in shaky, jagged bursts, mortified at having had his moment of introspection and pain disrupted. Though his cheeks are still wet with tears, he’s regained his usual haughty expression. His moment of distress has seemingly passed, or so he hopes they’ll believe. "Don’t say a word about any of this. You understand? It’s bad enough you two intruded on me during a deeply personal moment."

Now it’s Fábio’s turn to speak up. He forgets his desire to chase down James and demand an answer. Instead, he’ll get it from his friend. He joins Marcelo and pushes the other man aside a bit, face to face with the still sniveling Ronaldo. "Oh please. You’re so full of shit, you know that?”

Marcelo’s eyes go wide and he is back on his heels, stifling a snort of surprise. This is gonna be good.

“What?" Cristiano’s jaw tightens as he stares Fábio down. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. Why can’t he wake up from this terrible nightmare where the entire world turns on him? It was bad enough that James thinks he’s a selfish prick, but now Fábio too? Cristiano gives a dismissive, defiant click of his tongue. Anything to show he’s not in pain anymore. "I’m full of shit? Really? Do go on, Fábio. Tell me all about what a horrible person I am. That’s exactly what I’d like to hear from my best friend."

Fábio doesn’t break Cristiano’s gaze. In fact, his expression seems somehow more intense. There’s a knowing look in his eyes, and Cristiano can barely stifle a shudder. It feels like Fábio is looking right past his constructed exterior, like he’s staring right into his soul. "You’re not a horrible person. You’re a prima donna."

Marcelo smirks into his hands, shrugging in agreement. 

Fábio continues unfazed, “And James isn’t the first person to tell you that. You expect the world to bend to your will but it doesn’t work that way. Don’t be such an idiot. And don’t act like that kid just gave you some earth shattering revelation because I’ve been saying this for four goddamn years.”

From over Fábio’s shoulder, Cristiano can see Marcelo nodding, “It’s true, he has.”

Cristiano refuses to give in though. Fábio might have a point, and maybe he ought to have listened before, but he can’t just pretend that what James said didn’t hurt. But then again, he’d heard it all before. He's made demands of people that he didn’t find unreasonable, because he’s always expected greatness from himself. Maybe it's selfish to expect everyone else will perform to his level. He's pushed himself, and his team mates push themselves too, but he's really demanded more from everyone in his sphere. And when he didn’t get it... Well. Well, it didn’t matter. If people weren’t up to his standards, they didn’t deserve to be in his presence. But then he thinks of the man before him. Fábio, his best friend, the one who’s joked and laughed with him for years stood there, benched for most of the season despite his talents and proven consistency. Left out of the lineups, not allowed to start. Fábio, the joke of the locker room for his stupid hair and his doglike attachment to Cristiano, Fábio, who’s dared call Cristiano on his bullshit all the time. Fábio is far from perfect. And Cristiano has always made exceptions for him. Fábio is a weak spot. He always has been, from their very first meeting, from the first time they passed a ball back and forth together. Fábio isn’t perfect, but neither is he mediocre. It’s a hard balance for Cristiano to fathom, but in looking at his friend, he sees someone to be admired and respected in spite of his faults.

James, handsome and sexy as he is, is little more than a passing fancy, the flavor of the month. Everyone fawns over Cristiano Ronaldo, but they all get tired of his drama and his demands. When he closes his eyes to think about it, Cristiano can think of half a dozen teammates who had come on and worshipped him for a month or two, only to find him utterly irritating in the aftermath. Only Fábio has stayed by his side, playing with him, cheering him up. Fábio may not be the perfect player, or the one with the boyish good looks, and god knows he needs a haircut, but Fábio has one things the others lack: complete and utter loyalty. Fábio is his friend. He's always been his friend. And right now, he might actually be his only friend.

It is a stunning realization for Cristiano, and he is left speechless. He can’t think of anything to say, so he shuts his mouth, nose wrinkled into a snarl.

"So that’s it?" Marcelo asks, breaking the silence. He can see the contemplation in Cristiano’s eyes, the aching in Fábio’s, and while he wonders if he is intruding on something, he’s also not about to give up the front row seat.

Fábio’s frown intensifies, frustration mounting again. So Cristiano would say nothing to him. Alright, fine. He’d had this weight on his chest about this for ages and it felt nice to finally speak his mind. But at the same time, he feels almost guilty. He knows most of what Cristiano presents is a front for the world, a packaged image for mass consumption. The people want their perfect Ronaldo, and he gives it to them along with a spoon. It isn’t often that he shows his true self. Fábio has come to count himself among the few who have seen the true Ronaldo, a man who can be joyful and relaxed and not at all worried about what the world thinks of him or whose pants he needs to get in to stay on trend. He thinks back on their times training in Portugal for the national team, when they could just hang out and forget the stress of Real Madrid for a fleeting instant every so often. It’s not often that he gets to see his friend so relaxed and happy, so unworried about who might be watching him. He worries for Cristiano, yes, but Fábio is more frustrated than anything. Football isn’t just about image, it’s about the joy of the sport. It’s about the game. Chasing after little brats like James isn’t part of that sport, and neither is having a meltdown of the relationship when they realize they’re being deceived. A relationship can’t function when it’s based on falsehoods and pretension. If only Cristiano understood that, maybe then he’d finally find some happiness and let himself truly fall in love.

The blond closes his eyes and speaks gently. "What you’re feeling right now will pass. It always does, doesn’t it?”

"Of course, but–“

"No. Shut up. I’m not done talking yet,” Fábio says assertively, putting his finger to Cristiano’s pouting lips. Marcelo leans in, for a better view. He briefly considers getting out his phone to take a photo of this touchstone moment. "If you don’t want to repeat this again, you need to be authentic. You’re a good person. And people care about you. But when you act like a complete asshole, no one wants to be around you. So knock it off, Cristiano."

Cristiano sputters into Fábio’s hand. The nerve of him! Who does Fábio Coentrão think he is, calling him out for something he already realizes and desperately wants to ignore? "I’m not an asshole."

"You’re always an asshole," Fábio retorts. 

From behind him, Marcelo nods and whispers, “It’s true, Cris. You are an asshole much of the time."

Fábio waves a hand to silence Marcelo. "I’ve watched you do it to James. And Isco. And Bale. You even tried that crap with Kaká back in the day, remember? And who’s next? Whichever pretty face they pick up when they turn me out?” He gives a frustrated huff, something wounded flashing in his eyes. As he speaks his volume seems to increase before he’s ultimately shouting in Cristiano’s face. "You treat people like they’re the sun and moon, and then you spit them out when they prove they aren’t perfect. Don’t you understand that that’s unfair? You build them up, put them on a pedestal, and then when they don’t meet your extreme expectations you push them back to earth. You hurt people, Cristiano. You alienate them, and then you wonder why people think you’re a jerk. This is why. This is exactly why. It’s bullshit, and you do it all the time.”

Cristiano has never seen Fábio so angry before. He feels the need to shrink a little, he almost feels ashamed. Is this what his friend has been thinking all these years? "I don’t do that," he protests. "I don’t treat people badly when we break up."

Fábio gives a disappointed look and holds Cristiano’s gaze for a very long time. It’s like he’s probing him, searching for some shred of humanity hidden within that mask of perfection. The only indication that something might be sinking in is in the way the lines around Cristiano’s eyes soften just slightly. It’s a glimmer of hope, a chance that maybe things will be different this time. But there’s no guarantees that Cristiano will follow through and make good. The next transfer window might see the cycle repeat yet again. 

Accepting this, Fábio sadly shrugs. Sometimes there is no arguing with Cristiano. "You always have before. How are you going to prove that this time will be different?”

"I can’t," Ronaldo says, a sudden wave of trepidation rising within him. He’s never felt this way before, not around Fábio at least. "I can’t make promises. I can only prove it with my actions.”

This seems to have been the right answer, or at least one that might satisfy a bit. The blond looks back to him, eyes slightly warmer. Maybe there’s a reason to hope for the best after all. It’s Cristiano he’s dealing with, and he expects at least a show of good faith in the attempt. Cris never could back down from a challenge. "So prove it. Try to find something to be happy about. And don’t treat the kid like a pariah. He’s a good kid. He just doesn’t know how to handle you.”

'Not like I do,' he thinks as he gently cups Cristiano’s cheek and gives his face a gentle pat. No one dared talk to Cristiano this way, and he’s almost worried that he’s dug himself a pit and will fall from Ronaldo’s good graces. It’s a relief when Cristiano finally gives a slow nod and sniffs back the rest of his tears.

After a moment, Fábio rocks back on his heels and rises to his feet, habitually offering a hand to pull Cristiano up. The gesture, so natural, is accepted without thinking and Cristiano is soon on his feet again too, hand in Fábio’s, unwilling or able to let go just yet. He looks at their hands, his own perfectly manicured, and his friend’s so beat up and… normal. It’s a stark difference, driving home his earlier thoughts on Fábio’s many imperfections. But it’s charming, in a way, how Fábio seems to defiantly dance to his own drum despite the machinations of his best friend. One might think that with access to so many types of lotions and hair products that the man might fall in line with Ronaldo, but no. Fábio is his own man. He’s not just some mini-Cristiano clone. And Cristiano likes that. He always has. Slowly, he gives Fábio a small, sad smile.

“O… kay.” Marcelo says, tilting his head. “Do you want me to leave? Because I feel like I’m interrupting something.”

“You’re not,” Fábio answers quickly, eyes on their hands too. He then extracts himself from Cristiano’s handshake and instead pulls the older man in for a hug. Explaining the relief in his heart when Cristiano doesn’t push him away but instead folds his arms around him too is impossible. All Fábio knows is that it feels right to comfort Cristiano this way. It’s what he’s always done, and what he’ll do for as long as they’re together.

Marcelo coughs, unconvinced. “Are you sure? It really seems like you’ve got this covered, Fáb.”

“It’s fine,” Cristiano says, making it final as he rests his head on his friend’s shoulder. He’s so over today. Why does everything bad always happen to him? “I just want to go home. Fábio.”

“Hm?”

“Drive me home.” That clearly wasn't a question.

This isn’t on the menu of things Fábio needs to accomplish for the day, but after this whole kerfuffle, he’ll do just about anything to keep Cristiano’s spirits from falling, even if it means leaving his car parked in the lot for a few extra hours to drive Cristiano hold. He releases his hold on his friend and nods, lips twisted in a line. Demanding little bastard. “Sure, Cris. Of course. Let’s get you home.”

And with that decided, the two Portuguese men depart the locker room quickly, leaving Marcelo alone to scratch his head and wonder what the hell he’s just witnessed. Whatever it is, he’s completely convinced that actually, no, he doesn’t want to know anything more.

**Author's Note:**

> it was going to result in fabiano, because i love them so much, but yeah. having sat on this for two years, i figured i might as well post it and see if this will get the creative juices flowing and inspire me to rework it at some point. it seemed like a waste of some fun writing to just have stashed away and not share.
> 
> if you have any feedback, it's welcome! i hope you enjoy it! c:


End file.
